


Bug Off

by Backwardshirt



Series: Finding Folklore [5]
Category: Bleach
Genre: After TYBW, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Bugs, Fluff and Crack, I’m throwing cat traits at grimmjow and seeing what sticks, Japanese Mythology and Folklore, M/M, Softer Boys, and there was only one bed kindof, are they even now?, constipated communication skills, ichigo doesn’t like bugs, mutual idiots, slightly domestic, someone get them a laxative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29853168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Backwardshirt/pseuds/Backwardshirt
Summary: Ichigo and Grimmjow get back to the shoten to give their…treasures to the tag-team duo from Hell, hoping nothing more exciting happens that night. Grimmjow looks like he’s had enough of everything, so Ichigo offers his room as an alternative to get away from the scheming shopkeeper.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Series: Finding Folklore [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2083188
Comments: 16
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s Chapter 5 in the series! All the words were starting to look the same, editing is haaaard lolol that and i keep making the story longer than i intended, my bad.  
> But our boys are getting a little softer…maybe?? This one references some parts of previous chapters, so if you haven’t read them, consider it!  
> 1\. Kappa Again  
> 2\. For Fox Sake  
> 3\. Tengu Trouble  
> 4\. Fanged Faux Paw  
> I tried to link it, but that apparently doesn't work? Or I'm just technologically illiterate. 
> 
> I know I pick on banjo playing a lot in this story, but I honestly really enjoy it. Banjo is right up there in my top three instruments to learn how to play. Foggy Mountain Breakdown has become a standard in bluegrass repertoire and in the 1949 version (the first recording, I believe) of this song, which was not the version I listened to for reference (I listened to the 1965 version), Earl is actually playing a five-string banjo. Thanks for coming to my TedTalk.

Getting back to the shoten would’ve been easier, if Grimmjow had just…let him go. Instead, like the giant, possessive cat-hybrid he was, he latched to his side, insisting, without using actual words because that was too easy, to move in his way…the entire way back, much like how Ichigo heard stories of cats winding through people’s legs as they brought in their groceries.

Except this time, it was Grimmjow, pulling Ichigo different directions when he didn't like the way Ichigo chose, citing close proximity to _that damned dog spirit,_ making the way back at least three times longer than it should’ve been. It was ridiculous, a pain in the ass, and kind of endearing, but Ichigo kept that last bit to himself. Better than to piss of astill growling arrancar. At least he wasn’t in his released form, flicking his weird ears across his face and wrapping his tail around Ichigo's neck.

Yoruichi met them on the outskirts of Karakura, dressed in her usual black pants, probably black shirt, and her orange over jacket...thing, arm outstretched.

“Well, look at that. You boys found each other yet again,” she laughed, looking between them, a smile stretched across her face, showing off a row of white, almost feline looking teeth. “Not that I’m surprised. I’ll take that fang now, Grimmjow.”

“Did you know it was a—”

“Dog spirit? You would want to know that, wouldn’t you?” She made snatching the fang from his balled-up fist look like child’s play. Grimmjow hissed at her from his spot behind Ichigo, pointed claws digging into the space between his armored shoulders. He rolled his eyes since Grimmjow couldn’t see him do it. 

“Did you get your item, Ichigo?”

Ichigo patted the space above his heart, where the pouch with a single, white, whisker sat in his pocket, curling his fingers into the fabric of his shihaksho as he felt Grimmjow’s fingers flex into the flesh between neck and shoulder.

“Ah, yeah,” he said, trying to knock off the arrancar’s claws by flapping his hand across bony fingers a couple times. It didn’t work, but at least he tried. What’s with cats wanting to sink their claws into him all of a sudden? It wasn’t anything new with Grimmjow, minus the location and closeness of said claws, but the other one? Haru was his name? That was new.

_When I said I preferred cats, I just meant one._

**They know when you like’em, King,** Shirosaki said as he impaled his sword into the ground of one of the buildings of his inner world. How Ichigo knew what he was doing had ceased to surprise him anymore.

_I’m not sure this one does._

**‘Cuz you’re both dense bastards. Quit pussyfooting around; it’s pissing me off.**

By the time both men arrived to the shoten, night had fallen. Giving Urahara the whisker pouch without punching him again was a task in and of itself, especially since he commented how, _I see you’re coming in together, and quite close. Grimmjow you look a little frazzled~~_

That earned Urahara a silver tipped boot sailing towards his face, but the bastard was quick and ducked, boot hitting the wall, dropping onto the floor with a loud _thunk_. Urahara snatched the footwear and sat on it like an egg, or at least hid it under his haori. Ichigo preferred the former.

Grimmjow looked like he was going to stomp over and retrieve it, until Urahra stopped him with a raised hand.

“I giveth, and I taketh away,” he said with a lazy smile waving his palm in the air around his face. Grimmjow thought for about half a second, before popping his other shoe off and throwing it point blank at him. This time it hit the mark, nailing the shopkeeper in his not-so-iron-stomach.

“I outta rub your nose in it,” he wheezed out, clutching at his stomach like breathing came from there. Ichigo rolled his eyes and walked into the hallway, aiming for the bedroom where he stashed his body before departing on his mission from hell, leaving Grimmjow behind with Urahara. Maybe he’d win this time.

His body was right were he left it, resting on the bed, sans handcuffs and arrancar gigai body. Where Urahara stowed it away, he didn’t know, but he did think the room looked more lived in than last time. A small table in the corner had a few items on it Ichigo glanced at briefly before running downstairs and punching Urahara. The black hoodie he’d made Grimmjow wear to breakfast a couple weeks ago covered up a knife, and a couple of books. A rug lay on the floor near the foot of the bed, a pair of slippers on it. A nightstand with a small, silver lamp. Otherwise, the decoration was sparse.

Night set outside, and the almost full moon glowed high overhead, but what Ichigo was most interested in, was the small night light plugged into a wall outlet near the table. That wasn’t there last time, and of anything Grimmjow could be… _apprehensive_ …of, if that was an emotion in his reach, Ichigo couldn’t believe it would be something as simple as the _dark_. Hueco Mundo was bathed in never ending night, he was used to darkness, right? Hell, he even said Harribel had them tear down the fake sky of Las Noches, so why the light? _Maybe it had something to do with his gigai?_

Merging with his real body was never difficult, but when Grimmjow barged in halfway, cursing under his breath about that _damned shopkeeper and his creepy ass comments,_ and kicked the door shut, Ichigo’s concentration stuttered.

Ignoring the interruption, he imagined his soul flowing back into his body, feeling life return to limbs, heart thumping rhythmically against his chest. Sitting up and blinking, Ichigo noticed the arrancar was back in his gigai as well— _did he store it in a different room? Did Urahara make him get in it?_ —and grabbed the sweatshirt on the desk Ichigo gave him a few weeks ago when he climbed through the window and slept on the floor with him.

Thinking back, remembering how he woke up to a warm weight pulled close, low, almost inaudible rumbling coming from Grimmjow’s chest, brought heat to Ichigo’s face. Just a little. But it was enough for Grimmjow to notice it and stare, head cocked slightly to the right before he snapped out of it and approached Ichigo, still sitting up on the bed, legs dangling off the side. Wrestling with the sweatshirt, he opened the bottom of it and shoved it over Ichigo's head.

“Put this on,” he heard through the sound of being assaulted with a cotton/fleece blend hoodie, cursing Uryu for even knowing that was a thing. Trying to find the hole for his head proved difficult with the ex-espada trying to twist it on him, as if it worked like a screw, the fabric bunching and tightening around his neck uncomfortably. Opening his mouth to say something rude, Ichigo inhaled a mouthful of fuzz and tried to spit it back out.

“Will you—” Ichigo tried to slap his hands away with one of his own while pulling it over his head with the other. “I can dress myself, thanks.”

Grimmjow retracted his hands, though Ichigo suspected not far, he could still feel his presence looming over him like a blue-haired obelisk, rigid and un-moving. Popping his head through the correct hole, he glared at the man in front of him, standing with hands on hips, not bothering to shove his arms through the sleeves, sitting there like a caterpillar with a sweaty cocoon wrapped around his torso.

“You just had to give it back, not make me wear—”

“Not giving it back. Put it on.”

Ichigo squinted at Grimmjow in the dim light, glaring at him, who was waiting as patiently as he was capable, which was to say, not at all, biting back the comment that if he was forcing the damn thing over his head, that should count as giving it back. His foot tapped irrhythmically against the wooden floorboards while the rest of him twitched in much the same fashion. He tried to pull it off by the bottom, and Grimmjow stepped forward and held it down, hands sinking into the bed on either side of his thighs. Ichigo wiggled around a little, an indication, he hoped, that he was maybe a little uncomfortable, and _still_ didn’t need help getting dressed.

“I’m all sweaty and—”

“Don’t care. Put it on.”

“I don’t—”

“On. Now.”

Rolling his eyes at the arrancar, Ichigo complied as hands left his sides, even at the protest of his skin bleeding out sweat like it was its sole job. Glancing up at the twitch factory in front of him, he noticed that his hair was kind of weird looking, sticking up at odd angles, like it had been licked a few times.

 _That’s exactly what happened probably,_ Ichigo thought, remembering the excited dog-spirit, jumping and rolling around on him back in the forest, yelling about his mouth not hurting anymore.

Grimmjow was still a little crazy eyed, but his pupils weren’t as dilated, so that was something, at least. He was wearing a simple white shirt, black logo on the breast pocket with Urahara showing off his signature peace sign.

 _Whoever learned printmaking for this needs financial compensation,_ he thought, looking at the shirt with a frown. There were some wet spots on it, he could see it turn pinkish in the light, as it clung to his skin on those areas, right across both shoulders, down onto the top of his left pec a little bit. He narrowed his eyes on that area—how did that dog spirit manage to get that close and still have _all_ of his (good) teeth?

Grimmjow noticed him staring and crossed his arms, turning his head toward the light in the wall, feigning interest in…something else. 

Ichigo flicked his eyes over to the small light again, still curious.

“What’s with the nightlight? That’s new.”

Grimmjow flinched at the question, body growing tense.

“Kisuke makes me sleep in this damn thing,” he said, poking at the skin on his arm. By thing, Ichigo assumed he meant the gigai, but that didn’t really answer his question.

“Sight’s shit in it. Can’t see in the dark.”

Ah, so it was for sight purposes, because he was kind of paranoid? Ichigo couldn’t fault him for that, he supposed. And…wait. Did Grimmjow just willingly offer up a weakness? Even if it was in the gigai body? That was something to think about. Then again, if Ichigo didn’t have that big window next to his bed, he’d probably do the same thing. The light, from the moon or otherwise, helped keep the nightmares away, so it wasn’t like he didn’t understand. But then….

“Where were you sleeping before?” One question led to another, as all things did, it seemed. Did Grimmjow use to sleep upstairs? Or was there another bedroom in this part of the house? Why did he move?

“In the bunker.” 

_That makes sense, I guess._ It was probably always light down there. Did Kisuke let him sleep in his arrancar body down there or still in the gigai? And _where?_ He'd never seen a place suitable for sleeping in that rocky terrain. Was there like a hidden cave or something?

Ichigo opened his mouth to ask, but Grimmjow looked expectant at the admission, staring at Ichigo with narrowed eyes, small frown set on his pale features. Teal estigma crinkled up in the corners of his eyes like fine paper. Maybe it was best if he asked later; he wasn’t sure how many more questions he could take. Knowing Grimmjow, he probably thought Ichigo thought he was weak, the big idiot.

It wasn’t true in the slightest, but he doubted the arrancar would believe him right now, as he eyed him suspiciously. Play it off as no big deal, he told himself. That was probably the best option.

Shaking himself out as he stood, hoping he wouldn't slip in a puddle of his own sweat, Ichigo walked to the door. Glancing once, back across his shoulder, he looked at the arrancar who was still eyeing him without moving.

“You coming or not?”

…..

The walk to Ichigo’s home was quiet, but not awkward like he feared. Late enough his sisters would probably be in bed by now, and his father would be watching television, or reading…or playing Operation™ by himself again. Ichigo caught him once. Isshin said some nonsense about trying to keep him _sharp_ , but Ichigo didn’t believe it for a second. Then again, any other explanation wouldn’t have made more sense, so he let it go. What that old geezer did in his free time was his own business.

His father was downstairs when they walked in the door, this time playing a card game with Kon, who freely roamed the house now, since the girls new about him. Yuzu was delighted the first time he’d spoken to her—even if was to tell her to _quit dressing me up as a lady! I’m an exceptionally handsome LION, not lioness! And if you are putting me in a dress, make it green, damnit! That’s my favorite color!_

Isshin raised a hand as they passed by, not bothering to look up. Kon noticed Grimmjow and paled, if that was possible in his stuffed body, but sat silently still.

“And just where do you two think you’re going?”

“Ah, to shower,” Ichigo said, turning towards him and rolling his eyes. Beside him, Grimmjow stopped as well, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeanshis jean pockets—this time they looked looser. His eyes darted between father and mod-soul, looking more wary of Kon than the former Shinigami, for whatever reason.

Isshin’s head raised slowly, a single eyebrow quirked. Relaxing into the softness of the couch, he crossed his arms.

“Together?”

Every drop of blood fled to Ichigo’s face the moment that word left his bastard father’s mouth. If Ichigo could use any kido, he’d use a level 90 to imprison him for uttering such things out loud…in Grimmjow’s presence.

“Of course, not you idiot,” he tried to say without his voice cracking. He succeeded, but only because it raised an entire octave, a sonata dedicated to his embarrassment. Grimmjow said nothing, just stood, watching the scene unfold like a briefcase full of spoiled pudding. His father didn’t look half as convinced as Ichigo would’ve liked, which was to say, not at all, but said nothing more. Ichigo knew if he opened his stupid mouth, he’d dig a bigger grave than he was already in. _I need a bigger shovel._ Instead Ichigo turned, dragging his fingers through his hair, sweating now from his father’s implication and the damned sweatshirt, walking to and up the stairs, hoping Grimmjow would get the hint and come with him.

Footsteps behind him indicated the arrancar did follow, and a little closer than normal. Ichigo could feel his body heat pressing into his back as he turned and walked towards the bathroom. His sisters probably weren’t asleep yet, so they shouldn’t stomp in and threaten to stuff his bed full of bugs and snakes this time for waking them up with a late night shower.

“Ah, you can shower first, if you’d like,” he said, closing the bathroom door behind both of them. He was just there to get a towel for the guy, not share a shower.

_Our shower isn’t big enough anyway._

**Is that a tinge of regret I hear?** Shirosaki laughed into his consciousness. Ichigo could feel Old Man Zan vibrate with annoyance, but said nothing. Foggy Mountain Breakdown was the next song on his Spotify playlist, and once he got Grimmjow squared away in the bathroom, he was going to play it on repeat until Shiro’s ears bled.

They were both standing in the middle of the bathroom awkwardly, facing each other but neither looking at the other. Ichigo wasn’t sure why—he figured Grimmjow knew how to use a shower, and he also figured the guy probably wasn’t in the mood to take a bath. Turning towards the cabinets behind him, Ichigo pulled out a towel for him, as well as a washcloth and another, smaller towel, just in case he wanted to use that for his hair. He didn’t know the guy’s preferences, and it was easier to give him all options right now.

Grimmjow took everything in, looking around the bathroom, to the tub, shower, sink, and finally, the cabinet behind Ichigo, where he’d pulled the towels from, and where his sisters kept all of their junk. Ichigo went past him, setting the towels on the rack beside the shower, and grabbed his bottle of shampoo from the self, holding it up to the arrancar, who stared at it, but didn’t take it.

“You can use mine,” he started, offering it out to him once more, “or I can get what my Dad uses.”

Isshin’s was hella smelly. Like he’d made his own concoction of Old Spice and Axe, shook it around in vodka, and washed his entire being in it. The smell lingered for an hour in the hallway after he was done, it was gross.

Grimmjow frowned and shook his head.

“Yeah, didn’t think so. My sister’s is another option, but I think Karin might try to skin you if she found out.”

Grimmjow took the shampoo from Ichigo’s hand and popped the cap open, taking a short sniff of it. The scent was some spicey, musky smell, like cedar trees and a little bit of cinnamon. Something like that. Subtle but still pleasant, unlike the bottled hellfire Isshin used.

“This is fine.”

Grimmjow’s usual gruffness was long gone, voice quieter than normal, subdued sounding. But why would that be? _Was it the shower comment? Shit, Dad made him uncomfortable, the bastard._ Ichigo figured he could shave off his eyebrows in his sleep, especially if Yuzu brewed him some sleepy time tea she liked so much, and pouted until he drank a bunch of it. Karin would be thrilled and would join in without hesitation.

“Alright, I’ll uh…” Ichigo looked around at the obvious lack of clothing for the guy and then looked back at Grimmjow, who was still holding the bottle close to his nose. “I’ll get you something to sleep in.”

“Just pants.”

Ichigo nodded, but didn’t move. Should he take off the hoodie and give it to him? Was he going to sleep shirtless like last time? And where was he going to sleep? Ichigo didn’t want to sleep on the floor again, but his bed was almost too small to fit them both comfortably. _Besides, he may not want to share the bed…or futon…or…._ Ichigo could feel the air turn a little sour as he turned and walked past Grimmjow out the door, shutting it once more behind him. He’d take his time and hopefully he’d be in the shower by the time he got back.

Walking back to his room, he flipped on the light switch and moved to his closet to take out the futon. Unfolding it, he laid it on the floor next to the bed, grabbed his pillow and a few spare blankets, making it up like he actually wanted to sleep there. Behind it, his desk was still a mess of papers and notes he needed to rewrite. They’d moved onto the bones of the lower body, hips down to the patella, and all the stuff in between, lateral epicondyle, greater trochanter…all the good stuff. It was about to bore him to death.

Kon was nowhere to be seen as he slipped off the hooded sweatshirt and dropped in on the floor before rifling through his closet for the same pants he’d given Grimmjow the last time. That was… _two weeks ago, I think,_ he thought as he grabbed them and refolded them into a neat(ish) square.

_Come to think of it, I didn’t ask if he even wanted to stay here tonight._

**You asked if he was coming and he followed you,** Zangetsu echoed into the front of his mind. Ichigo sighed.

_I know but he’s acting…weird._

**Are you not acting the same?**

_I didn’t think I was until now._

**Consider that may be your problem, Ichigo.**

_What?_ Ichigo was confused. And why was the Old Man so chatty all of a sudden? He never talked this much except when it was to lecture him.

**Thinking.**

_Ah._

Ichigo ran a hand over the soft pants, resigned to his sword spirit. He was right of course; either by thinking too much or not enough, it was always something. Whatever. Grimmjow needed pants before he got tired of waiting and waltzed into the room buck naked; that was something Ichigo wasn’t prepared for…yet. Not that he hadn't seen him naked before, but he hadn't been ready that time either. 

He didn’t hear any water running as he walked back to the bathroom, which was strange. Grimmjow couldn’t possibly be done yet, he’d only been in his room for like five or six minutes. Leaning his head against the door and knocking, Ichigo called out to him.

“Everything alright?”

A pause.

The sound of a smaller container falling over.

Swearing.

Finally, he said something from the other side.

“What’s all this other shit?”

Opening the door, he peaked around it and saw Grimmjow sitting on the floor cross legged, with the contents of the cabinet scattered around him haphazardly, like he’d taken one arm and swept them all to his chest in a single motion to bring them out.

Extra bottles of shampoo, some moisturizers, facemasks his sisters used, lotions…. _Damn, he really cleaned out the cabinet, huh?_ Anything that should’ve had a cap didn’t have one, instead they lay in a pile at one of Grimmjow’s pale, bare feet.

“What are you—”

“What’s this,” Grimmjow asked, interrupting his question and holding up a small container of white goo. It looked like someone had jammed peeled potatoes inside a blender, set it to puree and dumped the contents into a little glass jar. Ichigo took it and sniffed it. It smelled like flowers, but hell if he knew which kind. Turning the jar in his hand so he could read the label, it looked familiar. It was Yuzu’s, but he used it once.

 _It’s gonna take forever to fit the lids back onto the right bottle,_ Ichigo thought with a small sigh. Didn’t Yoruichi or Ururu use any of this? Or Jinta—that kid probably had an arsenal of hair gel. Did Grimmjow have his own bathroom with just…shampoo and soap at the shoten, or did they make him use the springs in the bunker all the time if he slept there so much?

“It’s deep conditioner for hair. Supposed to make it really soft or something?”

He didn’t know why he formed it as a question—he’d used it before, when Yuzu stayed at a friend’s house and Karin wasn’t paying any attention. It made his hair _so_ soft; he didn’t regret it one bit.

“Smells good. How’s it work?”

Ichigo lowered himself beside Grimmjow, who eyed him cautiously as he passed back the conditioner.

“Put it on your hair, and let it sit for a while before you wash it out.” 

Grimmjow stared at it a moment longer, head leaning slightly to the left before sticking three fingers in and dolling out a generous amount onto his palm. Judging by the scrunched up look on his face, he wasn’t a fan.

“It’s cold.”

Ichigo bit back a smile and forced himself to hold back from doing anything overly affectionate. He’d grabbed more than enough for his hair, but didn’t apply it, only sat there looking at it. Ichigo grabbed a rogue lid by his foot and tried to match its bottle, which wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be. By the time he’d matched the third bottle, Grimmjow still hadn’t moved, other than poking at the conditioner with his other hand.

 _Alright, this is going nowhere,_ he thought before offering both hands out to the man beside him. Grimmjow gave him a familiar _what the hell are you doing_ look as his fingers curled inwards, like he still had his claws, squishing the conditioner between his fingers and letting some splatter on the tile floor.

Ichigo sighed.

“Want some help?”

 _Grimmjow_ , _help,_ and _want_ in any order, usually didn’t go together, but Ichigo figured it wouldn’t hurt him too much to offer. The man glared at him with distrustful eyes, but didn’t retract his hands as Ichigo moved his closer, closer until he was able to gently scoop the conditioner out of his hands and into his own.

Rubbing the conditioner between his fingers to warm it Ichigo motioned for Grimmjow to get the washcloth he’d knocked on the floor so he could wipe the leftover slime away on it. When Grimmjow grabbed it and began to wipe his hands, Ichigo used that opportunity to start applying it to the ends of his hair.

Grimmjow jolted when Ichigo made contact with him, like he'd jammed a fork in an electrical socket, whipping his head around, knocking away Ichigo’s hands with a poorly aimed punch.

“Will you—” Ichigo ducked another punch, this time, one to his face.

“Didn’t you _want_ me to put it on your hair!?” Ichigo yelled as he caught Grimmjow’s wrist in a slippery hold, his hand sliding up to his mid-forearm. The arrancar growled, glaring at his arm once and back to Ichigo.

“Why the hell would I want that?”

Grimmjow’s eyes were wide, barely a ring of blue around a dark pupil.

“Then why did you—never mind. Look I’ve already got it warmed up. Let me put it on your hair. You won’t hate it I promise.”

Grimmjow bared his teeth at Ichigo in something definitely _not_ a smile, sneering at him, blunt teeth ready to bite and tear.

“I already hate it.”

Ichigo didn’t hold back his frustrated sigh. 

“ _Fine,_ I’ll put it on _my_ hair,” Ichigo grumbled, trying to save as much of the conditioner accidently slathered on Grimmjow’s arm. The arrancar cared even less for that contact, and kicked Ichigo in the shin, causing him to splatter some of the conditioner onto the cabinet door. It looked like he plastered half a jar of mayo on the whole of his forearm and onto the floor, forgetting that the bathroom and kitchen were not in fact synonymous.

“Ouch you shithead! If you don’t watch it, I’ll put this in your head anyway!”

Grimmjow grabbed ahold of Ichigo’s wrists and made direct eye contact, aquamarine orbs with shining rims glaring into his own. One of Grimmjow’s legs was thrown across his right one, pressing it down into the floor. If he turned off the lights, Ichigo would’ve bet money Grimmjow’s eyes would glow in the dark like some kind of bioluminescent plankton, just…prettier…and more violent.

“Do it,” the arrancar grit through clenched teeth, blowing hot hair into Ichigo’s face. 

“Do what?” Ichigo raised an expectant eyebrow, wrists still captured and held tight by the less than friendly looking arrancar before him.

Grimmjow’s eye twitched, and Ichigo could sense he was very close to starting a fistfight on his bathroom floor, but he needed to explain a little. Ichigo knew what he meant, and was being a little shit at this point for the fun of it. He’d _make_ Grimmjow talk if he had to, one way or another. 

“Put that shit in my hair. Get it over with.”

And with that, he threw Ichigo’s hands away and crossed his own arms over his chest, wiping the slick one on his shirt a bit for good measure. Turning back to the side, he recrossed his legs and waited, nose scrunched up like there was no way he was going to enjoy any bit of the next couple minutes that followed. Ichigo fought back the urge to run his fingers through his hair out of habit as he shuffled around and got behind the ex-espada..

“Fine,” Ichigo said as he dug fingers into the man’s scalp with force. Grimmjow tensed up. Smooshing some of the gooey conditioner into the strands of his hair, Ichigo brushed the strands the man usually had hanging in his face back, slicking them down and making them stay. “But if you bite me, I’m putting a handful of this in your mouth you grouchy bastard.”

It should’ve been a threat warrenting a response, but Grimmjow didn’t hear him, tipping his head back as Ichigo worked the conditioner into his hair. It wasn’t supposed to go on his scalp, but he didn’t figure it mattered. It’s not like Grimmjow did it regularly, and once wouldn’t hurt. Rubbing in circles around the crown of his head, Ichigo watched with a widened gaze as Grimmjow’s eyes fluttered closed, mouth dropping open slightly. Moving his fingers around, Ichigo made sure to coat every strand of hair as well as he could, flattening it across the top of his head and then forcing his fingers through it to ruffle it up a little.

After he did that a couple more times, Grimmjow brought a hand up, slowly, to grab a single strand of hair fallen between his eyes and rolled it between his index finger and thumb, a single eye cracked open.

“It does smell nice,” Ichigo said absently, still entranced by the look on Grimmjow’s face. The arrancar only gave a small nod before closing his eyes and dropping his hand back down.

Feeling most of the conditioner off his hands, Ichigo still didn’t stop, instead pushing his fingers up the back of his neck, backwards through his hair, rubbing back and forth slowly and forcing Grimmjow’s head to tip down a little. Without the shower, or anything going, Ichigo could hear a low rumble coming from the man’s chest, the same sound he barely heard when he woke up next to him on the floor. Ichigo had assumed it was a snore at the time, but now….

Ichigo’s hands stopped.

The noise stopped.

When Ichigo started up again, so did the sound.

_Ohmygod._

“Are you _purring?_ ”

Grimmjow’s eyes shot open, and he yanked himself out of Ichigo’s reach, hand landing on a small box, scattering the remaining bottle lids everywhere.

_So that’s a yes._

“No.”

Ichigo wasn’t imagining the red tinting the man’s cheeks, and bit back a smile, grabbing the towel Grimmjow must’ve pulled down earlier onto the floor, wiping his hands on it.

_Definitely yes._

Throwing the towel back onto the floor, Ichigo watched as Grimmjow flicked his gaze to the box under his hand; to his horror he saw he was manhandling a box of his sister’s wax strips. _At least I think it’s theirs. If it’s Dad’s he needed to use them a week ago._

Ichigo felt himself pale as Grimmjow ripped open the box, scattering clouded, slick, wax papers with pink goo stuck between them all around them, and picked one up, pulling gently at the ends.

“Grimmjow what are you—”

“These are sticky, right?” Grimmjow didn’t break eye contact as he continued peeling apart the wax strips, making a tacky, popping sound as they were forced apart.

“Nope,” Ichigo lied.

He didn’t like where this was going. He didn’t have much hair to begin with, and if Grimmjow stuck one of those on his face and removed one of his eyebrows, he’d never hear the end of it from his old man. _Though the small slit people cut in one of their eyebrows is kinda cool,_ Ichigo mused to himself. _No, bad Ichigo._

Shaking his head of the thought, Ichigo continued the rest of his poorly thought out threat.

“If you stick one of those on me, I’ll slap one on your chest hair.” Grimmjow only offered his trademark feral grin.

“Good thing they ain’t sticky then, huh?”

 _Oh shit,_ he thought as Grimmjow finished pulling apart the strip, leaving one end, sticky side out, pinched between the arrancar’s fingers on each hand. He sniffed one of them and frowned, not impressed, but didn’t touch, as he lifted his head back to Ichigo, locking eyes on him.

“Don’t you dare.”

Grimmjow’s eyes didn’t waver as he shot up, one hand reaching out towards Ichigo’s face, knocking a couple lidded containers over as his body rushed forward. Ichigo ducked back, trying to avoid the tacky paper, at least so it wouldn’t hit the only hair he could grow on his face.

One waxed up hand slammed into the center of Ichigo’s chest, pushing him back even further, sliding across the slick floor. Half his oxygen supply left his lungs, but Grimmjow didn’t seem to notice as he lunged again. Raising up a hand, Ichigo palmed Grimmjow’s face and pushed him back, throwing him onto the tiled floor and probably breaking a few lids if the cracking was anything to go by. 

Gathering himself to his feet, he threw open the door, and ran out into the hall, hoping his room could offer a little more safety than the smallness of the bathroom.

“Stop. Stop!” Ichigo didn’t want to say he squealed, but a noise came out of him that usually didn’t. He wasn’t faced with a maniac wielding wax strips very often, so proper noise procedure was out the window. So was he, if he got the chance.

Grimmjow came after him in full pursuit, dampened hair flopping around in strings on his head like wet pieces of yarn.

Ichigo ran into something head first, knocking against a solid wall. Turning his head, he saw it wasn’t a wall at all, but his idiot father, standing with his arms across his chest. Hearing Grimmjow’s thundering footsteps closing in, Ichigo did the only thing he could think of.

He ducked and sidestepped, pushing himself against the actual wall, as he heard a slapping sound. Isshin let out the most ear-piercing shriek Ichigo had heard in a while.

Grimmjow had planted the strip right across his old man’s hairy face, starting right below his right eye and ending on the curve of his mandible, right through his scruffy beard. Exactly where it would hurt the most if ripped off. Ichigo could hold back his laughter as Isshin pulled at it lightly, wailing comically loud.

“What the hell have you two been doing with your sisters’ waxy monstrosities?!”

Isshin took a large stomp in Ichigo’s direction and ripped the strip off his shirt, leaving a line of sticky, pink residue that would probably be a bitch to get out and raised it high over his head, murder in his eyes.

“Whoa, hey! Don’t threaten me with that—” Ichigo started raising his hands up in defense.

“Dad! Why the hell do you have one of my wax strips on your face?!”

Ichigo, Grimmjow, and Isshin turned to see Karin standing at the top of the stairs, having come out of the girl’s shared room like some kind of troll that lived under a bridge, arms crossed, brow twitching in irritation.

“My baby girl! Look what your brother’s idiot boyfriend did to me~~” he wailed out, opening his arms wide and running towards her, as if in slow motion. Ichigo took a second more to look at the scene before physically turning Grimmjow and pushing him back towards the bathroom. The arrancar tried to dig in his heels, but that was hard to do with fleshy feet and hardwood flooring; at most, it made squeaky, screeching sounds.

Ichigo had barely closed the door before he heard another ear-splitting scream from his father, knowing exactly what his demon-spawned sister had done. He almost felt sorry for Isshin. Almost. He was more concerned about the _boyfriend_ comment, and if Grimmjow had heard it.

Touching the sticky part of his shirt, Ichigo knew it wouldn’t come out unless he used a generous amount of baby oil; he looked at Grimmjow, who was also staring at the residue.

“He’s going to kill me for that,” Ichigo said with a sigh.

“Tch. Sounds like the little girl saved you the trouble.” His sentence was muffled as he began to pull his shirt off over his chest, which still had its lovely dusting of hair, letting it fall in a heap on top of some lids they scattered across the floor in their earlier scuffle. Trying not to stare, Ichigo’s face heated up when Grimmjow started fiddling with the pants. He was wearing a belt this time, so that was…something.

“Pfff, that’ll just make it worse. He’s probably gonna put one on me while I sleep now,” Ichigo said, turning around, hoping to give the guy privacy, not that he knew what that was. It was more for Ichigo’s own sake, if he was being honest with himself, and to keep him from seeing his reddening face. What was he, some schoolgirl now? This was getting ridiculous.

Ichigo decided his best bet was to maybe start picking up the bottles of stuff as he heard the telltale clinking and pulling of someone removing a belt, a metallic thing hitting the floor a few seconds later. His hands were barely shaking as he stuffed them back into the cabinet, some sans lid. That was a problem for another time. Or for Karin. Whichever came first.

“Uh…I left…pants, I mean, they’re uh,” Ichigo cast a quick glance and saw they were close to his towel. “There,” he finished, pointing stupidly to them with one hand that definitely _wasn't_ shaking, thanks. Grimmjow raised an eyebrow at him before Ichigo turned around again.

“I”ll leave now.” Ichigo absolutely did _not_ almost trip over a lid as he crushed one painfully under his bare foot, letting out a few colorful curses as he grabbed onto the knob of the door, jiggling it loudly in place as he picked crushed pieces of plastic out of his heel.

“Tch, what for? We’ve seen each other naked before.”

Ichigo sputtered, whirling around, forgetting about the pain in his foot, face red.

“Yeah, but only like once, and it was an accident!” Was his voice higher? It felt a little higher. His head felt funny. There’s no way they were actually having this conversation now. Or ever, for that matter.

_This isn’t where I thought I’d have my crisis._

“Whatever,” Grimmjow sneered at him before pulling his pants all the way down and stepping out of them. Ichigo turned around to allow him a little bit of privacy. Not before realizing that he went commando today, but still. It’s the thought that counted…right?

“J-just make sure you get all that stuff outta your hair before you wash it, or whatever you usually do,” Ichigo said, kneeling once more and picking up another rogue bottle of body wash and setting it into the cabinet. He briefly considered grabbing a random bottle and washing his eyes out with it, but figured Kisuke could cure blindness pretty quickly, since he did his own after the whole Quincy shit.

“Tch. If you’re leaving, put that hooded thing back on. I didn’t say you could take it off.”

Ichigo felt his eyebrow twitch, but refused to turn around as he opened the door into the hallway and passed through, shutting it behind him. Why couldn’t the guy just…ask nicely? Also, the fleece lining was _hella_ hot.

“ _I didn’t say you could take it off,”_ he muttered, as he entered back into his own room. At least Isshin wasn’t in a puddle of sloppy tears at the top of the stairs. Baby oil would’ve taken the strip off, but that was too little too late. _Couldn’t I just wear another shirt and give it to him or something? Wait. Is he making me wear it so he can take it back?_

Picking up his hoodie which he’d dropped by his desk, Ichigo sniffed it. It didn’t smell any different to him—just an ordinary black, hooded sweatshirt, with a hint of sweat. He didn’t remember where he got it, or really when. Folding it right side out, he turned it and looked at the front. Plain. No designs. Nothing special. No super fantastic smell. Nothing. And yet Grimmjow still wanted him to put the damn thing back on. Could he still smell that good when he was in a gigai? And why would he want something that had Ichigo’s sweat on it, anyway?

Rolling his eyes, he slipped the hot thing back over his head and changed into a pair of shorts to sleep in before sitting back at his desk. Turning on the light before rifling through his notes, Ichigo began to re-write. It was the easiest studying method he knew of, and it helped him retain more when it came time for the Uryu/Orihime/Ichigo study sessions.

_ Shaft of the femur _ :  _elongated, has a slight anterior bowing curvature_

 _Maybe I should switch to a literature major,_ he thought, copying down the vocabulary and glaring at it. All he ever got to read anymore were bone books. It’s not like Isshin would care all that much, he’d only been doing it for what…twenty years or so? That was probably nothing in Shinigami time. But Yuzu probably wouldn’t want to take over the clinic, and he wasn’t sure what Karin wanted to do. Whatever. _Bones for now, I guess._

 _Gluteal Tuberosity:_ _at the proximal end of the shaft, roughened area, extending from the greater trochanter_

As he wrote, Ichigo didn’t hear the door open and close behind him softly. His hand was beginning to hurt, but he should get to at least the _patellar surface_ before calling it a night. Hunching over his notes, sweating under the hoodie, Ichigo figured he should also take a shower tonight, but after this, he wasn’t sure he’d have the energy. Wrestling Grimmjow, physically, and emotionally, was a hell of a job. He was way more exhausted than he thought he’d be, but maybe the two previous spirits had something to do with it.

He didn’t register the presence behind him until a couple drops of water hit his notes, smudging his neat writing, putting a frown on his face. Rolling his shoulders, Ichigo straightened his back and bumped his head against something as he did so. Tilting his head to see, he was able to look almost directly into Grimmjow’s face. His hair was still pretty wet, even though he had the smaller towel draped over his head.

“You’re supposed to dry your hair with that.”

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything, as he brushed one hand against Ichigo’s cheek. He could feel the sword callouses on his palms, felt the heat from his body radiate off him like a small furnace, as the arrancar continued to stare.

As Grimmjow ran his other hand underneath Ichigo’s chin, along his neck and forcing his head back further, Ichigo swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing underneath the man’s palm. It was rough and calloused too.

“So are we gonna talk about it or no?”

He wasn’t quite sure what the guy was doing, but by the way his eyes were blown in the desk light, he figured he wasn’t in any real danger.

“Got nothin’ to talk about.”

Grimmjow’s voice was lower and rough, sending a tingling sensation down Ichigo’s spine, from C1 to L5 (Chapter 7).

 _Liar,_ he thought, frowning up at him. There was plenty to talk about. Were they going to ignore Isshin’s _boyfriend_ comment? And what about the kiss? Either one, honestly. Grimmjow had started it with his stupid soft lips, but Ichigo would start the conversation if he had to. And what about the sweatshirt? Ichigo didn’t see why it was so important, but Grimmjow apparently thought so.

The hand tilted his head back a farther, almost painfully, but not enough to try and break away as Grimmjow leaned over him a little more. He looked different without his hair styled back. With it down, and _dripping_ , in Ichigo’s face, hitting the skin of his cheeks in barely warm droplets, sliding off in either direction, Grimmjow’s right hand wiped one away with his thumb, brushing it over Ichigo’s cheek. He looked…softer. _Human._ It was weird, but… _I think I like it. I mean, I like every side of Grimmjow._

He could feel his face heat up at the realization. Grimmjow’s face kept lowering, getting closer, and closer.

_Wait, is he…?_

Ichigo could smell his shampoo on Grimmjow’s hair—how much did he use? And even more, Ichigo _liked_ it on him. Liked Grimmjow having a familiar scent on him—Ichigo’s scent. Maybe that’s why he was so gung-ho about the sweatshirt. He could feel sweat break out on his neck and forehead as Grimmjow’s eyes fluttered closed, lips close enough to almost brush up against his own—

“Ichigo I know you need your emotional support arrancar, but right now?!” a voice screeched behind them both.

Blue eyes shot open as Grimmjow jolted back, hands fleeing Ichigo’s skin like they’d been burned, and he turned, facing the stuffed monstrosity on Ichigo’s bed.

Ichigo was about to roast. From the sweatshirt. From…whatever that had almost been. From every damn thing, so he wrestled the hoodie back over his head and threw it at Grimmjow, knocking the towel all the wall off his head in the process. Ichigo was pretty sure he knocked off a couple papers by the sound, but that was a problem for later.

Grimmjow was eyeing Kon with wary eyes, body tense and unmoving, fingers flayed out like he had his claws back. Why Kon seemed to get under his skin so much, Ichigo wasn’t sure. And he always addressed him as—

“What’re you talkin’ about, Lion,” he spat out, still not moving.

Lion. That’s all he ever called Kon, and hell if Ichigo knew why. Kon wasn’t a fan of it either, so each time they did interact, he gave him an even dumber nickname. Last time it had been _Bluejow_ or something equally ridiculous.

Kon got up and wagged his hand, paw, finger, thing at him a couple times before rushing towards the end of the bed farthest away from the arrancar.

“Keep it in your pants, G-man, there are children in this house!”

Ichigo felt his head drop down in embarrassment, heeling at his eyes with his hands. _G-man? Where did he come up with that nonsense? I never thought I’d miss Bluejow._

“Shut the fuck up, Triangles.”

Ichigo contemplated banging his head on the desk. He was never getting to sleep now.

_At least he knows his shapes, I guess._

**A two-year-old knows shapes, King.**

Ichigo said nothing as he ignored Grimmjow and Kon trading a plethora of colorful insults, instead patting around his desk for the earphones he knew were there. Finding one bud, he grabbed it, stuffed it in his ear and hit the space bar on his laptop. Flatt & Scruggs, Foggy Mountain Breakdown started immediately, a banjo picking away in the most annoying, twangy fashion. Shrio clapped his hands over his ears and screeched.

**Alright, alright! Turn it off!**

_That’s what I thought._

Kon threw the only pillow left on the bed at Grimmjow, who smacked it away and into Ichigo’s face. He let it drop unceremoniously to the floor as he glared blades as big as his shikai between the two idiots.

“Will you two give it a rest? You’re going to wake the whole—”

“Ichigooooo!”

 _Speak of satan and here he comes,_ Ichigo thought bitterely as his father plowed through the door. Slamming the door against the wall and slapping it shut, Isshin walked forward, elbow extended, no wax strip in his hand, thankfully, but he did have a distinct, red patch where hair had been forcibly, and painfully removed in a nice clean rectangle on the right side of his face. Ichigo winced looking at it—that had to hurt like hell. _Karin, you savage. I owe you one._

Isshin pointed a hairy knuckled finger in Grimmjow’s direction, stepping on the futon with his smelly-ass feet. Ichigo felt a migraine coming on.

“You’re sleeping downstairs you demon.”

“Like hell I am old man,” Grimmjow spat, twisting and planting himself on Ichigo’s mattress like he belonged there, also stepping on the futon, messing up the neatness of the sheets and blankets. He grabbed Ichigo’s pillow with his monkey feet and flipped it up where he could catch it, and tossed it on the bed.

Isshin looked like he was about to run to the bathroom and grab a handful of those waxy strips himself and give Grimmjow the worst homemade job ever done. Reclining back into the bed, the arrancar crossed his right leg over his propped up left knee and stared past it, smirking at the once-Shinigami.

“After ruining my beautiful beard with that monstrous wax—”

“You shouldn’t’ve let Karin rip it off you idiot,” Ichigo interrupted, trying to get his mind off murdering the blue-haired menace taking up all the room in his bed. “Baby oil would’ve taken it off painlessly.”

Isshin whipped his head around and stared, wide-eyed at Ichigo like it was the first time seeing him in person.

“Whaaaaat?”

Hands went up to his face, where the distinctive lack of hair was as he frowned comically large, the corners of his lips pulling down almost to his chin.

Flicking his eyes around, Ichigo noticed Kon had fled behind Isshin’s leg, peeking out and sticking out his tongue at Grimmjow a couple times, who returned the gesture with a pointed middle finger.

While Isshin molested his own face for a few minutes, Ichigo stood at the head of the futon, wondering what the hell was going on. Grimmjow obviously wasn’t going downstairs unless he was muscled out of the bed violently, and he didn’t doubt Isshin would at least _pretend_ to try.

That would be a sight of itself. Ichigo might actually wake his sisters to watch that shitshow. Yuzu would pop popcorn and everything. He’d call Urahara and have him make a betting pool. It would be a grand time. Hell, he might even invite some people from the Soul Society.

Ichigo was twisting his desk chair back and forth by a single foot, the other leg propped up on the chair, bracing his arms, when Isshin spoke again, rubbing his face one more time.

“And where exactly do you think you’ll be sleeping, then?”

A pointed gaze was flicked in Ichigo’s direction, from both his father, and the bed-hog.

“Tch. In the bed, obviously.”

Ichigo frowned at Grimmjow, making an, _Oh really,_ expression on his face, or at least, he hoped he was. Grimmjow just snorted and turned back towards Isshin. Ichigo noticed a touch of black underneath his far arm, _is that…the sweatshirt?_ _What the hell is that for?_ What was the point of Ichigo wearing it and getting it all gross if he was just going to put it on before he went to sleep?

“I’m not sleeping on the futon again,” Ichgio spat out before his brains could tell him otherwise. Grimmjow could sleep on the damn thing.

“Tch. Just sleep in the bed, idiot.”

Ichigo’s face went from, _Oh really,_ to, _wait, really,_ which was something his father definitely noticed, coughing awkwardly into his elbow, losing all the steam he’d built up in aggravating the arrancar. Kon noticed as well.

“Well, I think I’m gonna sleep in the kitchen sink or something,” the mod soul said, turning around and bolting, leaving the door wide open as he fled into the lighted hallway. Ichigo hoped all this commotion didn’t wake his sisters up.

“I think I’ll join you,” Isshin called out before turning around, looking only once more behind him at Ichigo, who was busy trying not to turn into a fire truck. His gaze said, _if you two wake me up in the middle of the night, I’m killing you both,_ which only made Ichigo blush harder.

…

“So…” Ichigo started, feeling the way his back lined up with Grimmjow’s. He was in the bed with him, just as Grimmjow suggested, but laying back-to-back, which was something Ichigo _himself_ suggested. His face was still red, body hot, as he felt how warm Grimmjow’s bare skin was on his own.

He felt Grimmjow shift behind him, pressing his back harder against the Shinigami’s.

“Spit it out, Kurosaki. I can hear your gears turnin’ from ‘ere. If you got somethin’ to say, say it.”

Ichigo scowled at the wall and said nothing in response, instead, shifting and crossing his arms across his chest like a cranky child who didn’t want to eat all their vegetables.

The heat from Ichigo’s back vanished, replaced instead with hot breath sweeping past his exposed ear as Grimmjow turned, pushing his chest into Ichigo’s back, face leaning dangerously close to his own. Ichigo refused taking the bait and looking directly at the bastard.

“Now I’m the knife.”

Ichigo snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Still no. Now _you’re_ the big spoon.”

Grimmjow’s nose burrowed into the edge of the hair along his nape, pushing along tensed muscles, open mouth huffing air out like he was trying to inhale him. Every place he brushed up against tingled, sending needled sparks throughout his tired body. 

“What are you doing?”

Grimmjow flicked a wet tongue across the exposed skin of Ichigo’s neck; he shivered at the contact, but still refused to look at him. What the hell was he doing now?

“Taste better without that smelly shit.”

Ichigo dug his fingers into the skin of his arms, leaving little half crescent marks along his biceps, he was sure. That wasn’t an answer to his question, and Grimmjow knew it, the bastard.

Sensing that conversation going nowhere, Ichigo tried a different approach.

“Why are we in the same bed?” Another puff of air blowing across his neck.

“’Cuz I don’t wanna sleep downstairs.”

Okay, fair answer, Ichigo supposed. He didn’t want to sleep downstairs either, but it wasn't like he would anyway. He didn't last time, why start now? But there was a perfectly fine futon right on the floor. Did he really want Ichigo in the bed that bad? The last couple of hours were confusing as hell; Ichigo didn’t really know what to make of it, didn’t quite understand what Grimmjow was wanting out of…whatever he was doing. If he could just _talk…._

“But why do I have to be in it?”

Grimmjow raised his head up, scowling close enough that Ichigo could see the furrow in his brow in his peripheral vision. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and dropped into the mattress, unseen by the arrancar. Had he said the wrong thing? 

“You sayin’ you’d rather be on the floor?” _Shit._

_Damnit, he’s already taking it the wrong way._

**How’s he supposed to take it, King?**

_I just want him to talk._

**He did, idiot.**

_But that’s not what I meant._

**He’s a giant cat, when do they ever outright say what they mean?** Shiro looked thoroughly unimpressed by the unfolding scene. When he said to stop _pussyfooting around_ , as he so eloquently put it, Ichigo figured he didn’t mean screwing it up. 

_How much do you know about cats, exactly?_

**More than you.**

While Ichigo had his little debate with Shiro, Grimmjow turned back around, shoving his back flush with his own, taking up as much of the bed as possible since he took the exact middle. A foot pushed up against Ichigo’s calf, edging him out ever so slowly. Ichigo was already on the edge as it was, any more and he’d fall out, which he suspected was the whole point. _Damnit._

“Will you quit it. I don’t have much space left!”

“Tch. Thought you’d rather sleep on the floor.”

Ichigo rolled his eyes far back in his skull, seeing Shiro flip him off and Zangetsu shake his head as they passed through his inner world quickly. Fantastic, he'd managed to dissapoint two specific pieces of his soul. Wonderful.

“Grimmjow that’s not what I—”

A last shove on his leg from Grimmjow’s foot sent Ichigo straight to the floor.

_Great._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimmjow, Ichigo, and Kon travel West, aiming for one of the oldest mountain ranges, at least, if Yoruichi is to be believed. They were to get there before sunset, in order to witness the creature they needed to take care of. Unfortunately the creature in question happens to be his worst nemesis yet. Aizen and Yhwach had nothing on this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I’d like to thank ArisuAmiChan for their suggestion of Omukade, and omagatoki; I’ve really enjoyed reading and researching these aspects from folklore, so thank you so much! But also, I looked at so many pictures of centipedes for reference during this I gagged, so…. Lolollll I do not like bugs. Am I projecting a little on a particular character?? Absolutely. If you really don't like bugs, this may not be the chapter for you, that's mainly why I upped the rating. That and Grimm's potty mouth.

“Why do I have to third-wheel your weird-ass date,” Kon whined, behind Ichigo and Grimmjow, kicking a rock, missing a nearby tree and hitting an already testy arrancar in the back of his armored leg. Turning around quickly, his hair whipped across Ichigo’s face, prickling in his eyes for a brief moment, causing them to water and blink rapidly. It was like flossing his teeth, except with hair in his eyes and worse.

“Watch yer aim, Lion,” the bastard growled, grabbing Kon by the head, claws digging in ever so slightly, causing a small trickle of blood to run down his forehead. Well, Ichigo’s forehead, really, since Kon was occupying his human body.

“Get your claws outta my body, Grimmjow,” Ichigo hissed at him, reaching out a hand to swat the guy’s away.

“Then control it.” Grimmjow’s eyes were harsh. Angry, slitted eyes narrowed on Ichigo—the real one. _Well, I guess both of us are real, in a way, but—_

“ _He’s_ not a _toy,_ you idiot. And what make you think he’ll listen to me?” Ichigo successfully slapped at Grimmjow hand, which had left Kon-Ichigo’s head, only to reach for Ichigo-Ichigo’s own. One of the claws cut his palm.

_What is my skin made out of pudding now?_

**You let your guard down when you trust them, Ichigo.**

_He’s in his_ _Resurrección_ _form, and half feral on a good day. How’s that trust?_

**Because he could’ve cut your throat just now.**

Ichigo didn’t answer the old man, who’d been silent most times up until now. He and Grimmjow were on less than pleasant terms, had been since he’d pushed Ichigo out of the bed like an unwanted stuffed animal; the arrancar had been simmering like hot cat soup all day. This experience was going to send him over the edge if Ichigo wasn’t careful.

“I still don’t know why you had to drag me along. I could’ve gone out on the town. So many skirts with hot bodies underneath…” Kon’s eyes faded off into some distant, perverted land. Ichigo appreciated his advice, and figured his perving was, at least partly, just a mask for his loneliness. The other part was personality, unfortunately.

“Not in my body you won’t,” Ichigo said, smacking him(self?) across the head, causing Kon to stumble forward, almost knocking into Grimmjow, who looked like he was about to start foaming at the mouth.

“And besides, Yoruichi wasn’t the most straightforward. Just that a human was important,” he continued with a sigh, letting Grimmjow take the lead, staying beside Kon.

They’d traveled pretty far for a day’s journey; it was only a couple of hours if they used a few well-timed flash steps, or in Grimmjow’s case a sonido. Yoruichi sent them westward, where one of the oldest mountain range in Japan lurked far above sea level, under strict directions to arrive _before_ omagatoki.

_“You’ll know what the creature is when the time comes,” she said, nodding once for effect, wiggling her bare feet on the tatami floor. If you asked Ichigo, nothing she was saying made any sense, but whatever. It’s not like he wasn’t used to that aspect of the job—hell, he could make a killing from it if he actually charged._

_She’d texted him early; Ichigo was awake with a backache from sleeping on the floor again, and since he was apparently an old man. Winning two wars wasn’t easy, okay? And neither was trying to talk out touchy feely shit with an arrancar who just wanted to do the touchy bit, apparently. It took its tolls._

_‘I knew I should’ve taken a hot bath last night,’ he thought as he looked at his phone. She told him to come to the shop after Kisuke left for the Seireitei—said Mayuri wanted to test something with him, and he agreed, probably knowing he could counteract it just as quickly. He was going to be gone for a couple of days and bring Kon; he’d be useful._

_“Omagatoki,” she started, and Ichigo nodded, like he knew where she was going with her train of thought. Unfortunately, her train of thought had left the station, jumped over onto another set of tracks and was long gone before Ichigo bought his ticket._

_“It’s the time at dusk, when the spirit and human worlds overlap. It’s also a full moon tonight, which could make it stronger.”_

_Ichigo knew the term. Didn’t put much stock in it, but he knew it, but didn’t see what that had to do with the current situation. They’d met plenty of spirits outside of that timeframe, so why was it so important now? Like Yoruichi sensed his thought process, she continued._

_“This particular creature’s soul will return, reanimating it’s body for a brief time. I want you to use this,” she held up the blackened inugami fang Grimmjow played dentist to get yesterday, “to cut a piece of its armor away. About the size of your torso, Ichigo.”_

_‘What the fuck kind of spirit are we messing with this time?’_

_About the size of his torso? Armor? Talking and trading with spirits was one thing, but this sounding like an exorcism or something. He was a soul reaper, not a demon slayer._

_“Ordinary weapons won’t work. Grimmjow,” she turned to face the grumpy bastard leaning against the wall, one arm propped up on a knee, glaring at any and everyone. If he could scowl at all of them at the same time, he absolutely would. For now he settled his gaze on Ichigo, trying to set his hair on fire with pure spite alone. “Your_ _Resurrección_ _will do some damage, but it probably won’t do enough to kill it. The shell has legendary strength. That’s where the fang comes in.”_

That was all she had said and gave them vague directions, saying some nonsense about if they couldn’t sense it out with her instructions, they were hopeless and a waste of her time. Real loving stuff. Why Grimmjow had actually listened and released Pantera about half an hour ago was beyond him—maybe he was just being a dick to spite Ichigo.

There _had_ to be a way to talk about their situation. What was it, exactly? What did Grimmjow actually want? Did he just want to lick him whenever he felt like it? Did he…want _more?_ What would _more_ entail? Ichigo was almost positive Grimmjow was going to kiss him again last night before Kon rudely interrupted, and this time, it wasn’t at the behest of some dirty old kappa. _Am I overthinking this? I can’t tell._

Right now wasn’t the best time for that crisis, as they stopped in a small clearing at the base of one mountain. Mount Yari or something like that. Grimmjow had stopped, muttering something about being _pretty damn close_ , and Ichigo was inclined to agree, just so they could stop walking. Hiking wasn’t on his list of hobbies for good reason. He could fly in the damn air, why did he need to go under and make his feet hurt? That coupled with Kon stamping around, he’d have blisters the size of Zangetsu on his feet tomorrow. At least dusk was only a few minutes away; the timing couldn’t be better.

But now they were locked in some kind of half awkward silence—half because Kon kept chattering away, whining and complaining. _Why do I have to hold the fang this, and what am I even supposed to do with it that._ Grimmjow glared at him a few times, but that didn’t deter the mod-soul’s blathering.

Then it was onto how he could sneak into certain clubs, two didn’t ask for ID, and the dance floor was always packed with _ladies_ _who weren’t afraid to—_

“Wait a minute, have you gotten my body drunk?!” Unacceptable. And he couldn’t even enjoy it, not that he even liked the taste of alcohol. All he’d ever gotten were weird-ass headaches occasionally on a Sunday morning when he’d been on patrol all night.

Kon just grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

“And got you a few numbers, but I threw them away,” he flicked his eyes over to Grimmjow, who was pretending not to listen. “They weren’t really your type,” the mod-soul lamented, throwing his hands up.

“Why must you have this body and not even use it to it’s full intents while I get—”

The ground rumbled, shaking the earth beneath their feet.

Leaves, even though they were new, fluttered to the ground, ripped away from the limbs by an unknown force.

Ichigo caught Grimmjow’s gaze as Kon clung onto his arm, twisting the robe around it like some kind of rope. Confusion was the most obvious element on his face as he made his way across the shaking ground towards Ichigo.

“What the hell is happening?” He dug claws into the tree closest to Ichigo, on his left, about three feet away from him.

“It feels like an earthquake, but—”

“A fuckin’ _what?_ ”

Oh, right. Grimmjow had never experienced one of those before. Unless Hueco Mundo had those, which, looking at the context clues clawing onto a tree beside him, it didn’t.

 _Surprise bitch,_ he wanted to say, but didn’t, as he watched another clawed hand join the first and dig into the thick trunk with enough force to crack off a fat piece of bark.

“I’m guessing the ground doesn’t shake in Hueco Mundo ever?”

Kon squeaked and tightened his grip on Ichigo’s arm as the rumbling began to get worse, making standing up without aid of something difficult.

“You mean for the hell of it? Fuck no!”

Fair enough, Ichigo decided. He didn’t like them, but it’s not like he’d never experienced one before. They were far enough inland they shouldn’t need to worry about a tsunami. As Ichigo tried to make his way over to where Grimmjow had attached himself to the tree, the rumbling stopped. He stumbled the rest of the way over, Kon practically attached to his hip, eyes almost on the brink of tears. Right. Kon hadn’t experienced one either, so he was just as lost as Grimmjow.

“I wanna go home,” he cried, smushing his face into Ichigo’s arm. Ichigo patted his back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Honestly, he felt the same. His feet hurt, and so did his back. Plus, he was tired from not getting enough sleep the night before, _thanks for that last one, Grimmjow,_ he thought bitterly. 

“Quit blubbering, Lion.”

Ichigo threw a quick glare at the arrancar, only to see him looking uncomfortable, rather than the angry he expected.

“Hey, I’ve never been in an earthquake before,” Kon shouted, shaking Ichigo as if that would prove a point, and sniffed up a large bubble of snot. Ichigo grimaced. Kon could really make his body look dumb. And gross.

“So give me a break already. You didn’t look like you were enjoying yourself either, Rapunzel wannabe!”

“What did you say—”

The rumbling started up again. Violently. Ichigo thought the ground was going to crack open where he stood, when flat, segmented pieces of rock began to shoot out of the ground and into the air, about a hundred or so feet above their heads. With each flattened piece of rock to join the others in the sky, it began to form a pattern, spiraled around the mountain, a slightly bigger part at the bottom, closest to the trio, and winding up, up through the forest around the mountain they were at the base of.

For a moment, it reminded Ichigo of Renji’s Zabimaru, except the segments were a little bigger, he guessed. Entranced by the situation, Ichigo felt whatever fear had coiled up in his gut dissipate. As each piece joined in the sky, the rumbling subsided, until it was a dull shake.

Casting a quick glance beside him, Grimmjow was as captivated by the scene as Ichigo. Kon on the other hand, clung to him as tightly as possible, the only thing coming out of his mouth—gibberish. And a little bit of drool/snot. Incomprehensible ramblings spouted from a deep fear, which Ichigo couldn’t blame, but he was getting a little bit of snot on his shihaksho, and that he did mind. Not enough to shake him off, but still.

Washing it was a pain in the ass, since most machines didn’t have a _reishi clothing_ option. Of course, Urahara had made one, but hell if he trusted it. It would probably put a layer of demon dust on him or sprout two extra left arms. Make him turn into a sentient tea-pot like that one movie Yuzu liked to watch when it was rainy outside. Something ridiculous and dumb. 

The segments closed in, forming a tighter spiral, and a gelatinous, gooey substance spilled from each segmented end, covering each piece, the shaking ground now still. A foul smell filled Ichigo’s nose, eyes watering at the potency, taking more effort than he’d like to admit to not gag at the increasing stench.

Grimmjow, in his heightened awareness, seemed to agree, clamping a clawed hand over his face until only his eyes were visible. As the moving mass started covering the twisted form, the foul smell got worse. _It almost looks like…flesh? What the hell is this thing?_

A cracking sound, loud and echoing across the sky, Ichigo saw the rock cracking throughout the side of the spiral, or at least what he could see. Bloody-orange bone shot out of it, fracturing in the middle and angling down like a…

_If this is what I think it is, I’m going to die._

As more orange bones sprouted violently from the side, on _both_ sides of the flattened rock, the mass began to look less and less like a rock.

Segmented body.

Hundreds of bright, orange legs.

Ichigo looked toward the tip of the mountain, where a huge head, equally orange antennae forming, jaws and sharp points growing out of the dead flesh, each at least the size of Ichigo’s shikai, like pinchers, each one dripping a thick, purple or black liquid onto the forest below. 

Ichigo’s hand found Grimmjow’s unfriendly shoulder, squeezing tight, the bony armor groaning a bit under the strain.

_Centipede._

The trunk of its body was probably brown, but shone blue-black against the rising full moon, offset by the ugly orange legs, beginning to scuttle and wiggle around in their new found life. Some of them hit the highest branches of the trees farther up the mountain, and Ichigo felt his soul try to leave his soul form, running all the way to the Seireitei where Urahara was probably having a good laugh at his expense.

“Ōmukade,” he managed to breathe out without kneeling over.

“Kill me.”

If Grimmjow wanted to take this opportunity, so be it, if that meant he wouldn’t have to deal with this thing. No wonder Yoruichi had sent them. He would’ve sent someone else too.

Grimmjow was trying to shake his hand away, eventually reaching up with his hand and physically prying it off. To his dismay, Ichigo only latched onto his hand, eyes still wide and staring at the giant Ōmukade floating in the sky, finishing up reforming in the light of the moon. He’d read about them a couple times in some folklore book, but didn’t absorb a whole lot of information because he didn’t want to stare at a picture of the biggest, and worst centipede on the planet. That, and who would’ve guessed they were, like, real.

Certainly not him.

Was he panicking?

Was this what panic felt like?

Either his heart was beating too fast to feel his pulse, or his heart had actually gone into cardiac arrest and stopped completely. He’d take either, preferably the last one. He could already hear people talking.

_Did you know the Savior of all three worlds was done in by a giant Pokémon_ _? It even had the poison attribute! Neat, huh?_

_Wait, we trusted defeating two gods to someone like that?_

_It’s not like we knew he didn’t like things with a billion legs._

_What a pussy._

“You shaking, Kurosaki?” Grimmjow’s voice didn’t betray any concern because he was a dick, especially while Ichigo was having about thirty crisis’s, _crises? What’s the proper word, my brain’s dissolving._

“Yes,” he wheezed out, hand definitely shaking as he gripped Grimmjow’s own. Kon was probably shivering on his arm. Or maybe that was his own shoulder shaking. Hard to tell.

Grimmjow turned, Ichigo’s left hand still clutching onto his own, and faced him fully, glaring down on him, since this form was stupidly taller than he was. Ichigo broke gaze from the floating nightmare in the sky to look at the arrancar; one eye was a little more squinted and scrunched than the other, a small frown turning down the corners of his mouth—a main tell of his confusion, rather than usual anger or frustration.

“Why?”

Ichigo heard the question. It passed through the vibrational soundwaves in the air and passed all the way to his eardrums, where he promptly ignored the question. He could feel Grimmjow’s long claws prickle the tips of his fingers as he curled his hand tighter in Ichigo’s hold. If he lived to see Yoruichi again, he’d shit in her bed—she deserved it. She’d absolutely try to turn him into her own personal scratching post, but right now that was Grimmjow’s job, as he dug his other hand into Ichigo’s shihaksho, fisting it up around his collar and pulling him forward, eyes narrowed.

A hissing sound, like a high-pressure stream of water barreling against a rocky surface, erupted from the creature as it began to descend into the forest below, the back end lowering about fifty feet to their left, as the legs wiggled and writhed in new life. The sky—a blur of black, blue, and white—was an ugly bruise as the demon’s head spouted a frothing poison foam, sickly purple, almost black, half way up the mountain, the trees and limbs turning brown and then black as it killed everything in its path.

Ichigo knew he’d have nightmares about the giant bug from the depts of hell for exactly two months and seventeen days. He’d make Kon sleep in his bed by force if he had to for that period of time and wouldn’t even feel bad about it.

Speaking of the mod-soul, Kon didn’t look much better than Ichigo felt, hands white-knuckling the fang like it was the only thing keeping him in the world of the living. Face pale, eyes wide, jaw tense, neck muscles taut with strain. _Is this what I look like when I’m scared?_

Ichigo shook his head, trying to clear his clouded thoughts and closed his eyes. He needed to get it together. Deep breaths. Count backwards from fifteen. Do it again, but in Spanish. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts.

_Grimmjow and Kon are counting on me. Well, no. Kon is. Grimmjow probably hopes it’ll eat me._

**I think he’d rather eat you, King.**

_You’re really not helping._

**Oh come on! Let me out, I’m not afraid of this little thing!**

_It’s gotta be at least 100 feet long. How is that little?_

**The bigger they are—**

_A big bug is a bad bug._

Okay, so Shiro wasn’t a ton of help, but that wasn’t entirely unexpected; he’d rather radiate pure chaos than be a good sword spirit and offer aid. Not that he wouldn’t if the situation really called for it, but there was an enormous, venomous centipede worming around a mountain, at night, and there was only one way of killing it—if the situation didn’t call for it now, when would it? Maybe Shiro was just waiting for Ichigo to break. He’d tested Ichigo’s resolve before, who’s to say he wouldn’t do it again?

No. Ichigo helped win two wars. Fought against horrifyingly strong adversaries.

Kenpachi.

Byakuya.

Aizen.

Gingo.

Yhwach.

He wasn’t about to be outdone by a mountain with a bug problem. He wasn’t a demon slayer. He was an exterminator.

Ichigo could hear trees groan and creak, some snapping under and beside the movement of the Ōmukade, which was beginning to move, legs relearning how to walk from however long it had been dead.

Through the little clearing, Ichigo saw the tail end of it, long back legs dragging against the ground like they were broken, and fought bile rising in his throat like it was his third war to win. He could only see about five or so segments of it, but each segment of the trunk of its body had a pair of better working legs, each making a nasty clicking sound as they folded and the bend, scraping against the ground, small spines shooting out like little knives near the end of each leg.

Grimmjow’s ears flicked in irritation, his body now turned to face the end of the hell-bug. Ichigo noticed he’d pried his hand away from his grip, but didn’t remember when; he couldn’t remember feeling anything. Kon’s arms were wrapped around Ichigo’s mid-section, not the worst hug he’s ever had, but definitely the most fearful. Face buried into his clothed back; he could feel his own hot breath making a damp spot on his shihaksho. Good. Great. Just what he needed—Kon to have a panic attack when he was right on the edge of one himself.

Grimmjow took a long, quiet step forward and crouched low, all clawed predator, eyes set on the beast dragging itself along the ground. The stench was still raw and powerful, permeating the air in thick, nauseating waves, rolling over Ichigo’s senses in the worst way. For all it looked, Grimmjow had apparently gotten used to the smell, or had ripped out some of his own hair and stuffed it up his nose.

“Where are you going?” Ichigo’s voice was raspy and dry, like he needed to drink about three gallons of water. Kon was sweating enough, he could probably just lick him, but that would be gross. Or would it be considered self-care? He wasn’t sure anymore.

“Tch, carving out a piece of its scaly hide.”

Ichigo stepped forward, or tried to, with the weight of another anchored to his back like damned tree, rooting into the ground to infinity and beyond.

“Kon let go,” he said quietly, turning from Grimmjow for a moment, trying to elbow the mod-soul softly. He faced the arrancar again when he realized that wasn’t going to work anytime soon.

“Grimmjow that won’t—” Long, thick, limbs pushed off the ground like it was a trampoline instead of a solid, inflexible surface, sailing into the air and into reishi footholds. “Work,” Ichigo finished, staring at his retreating back. Not a sound was made in his movements, even as he vanished from sight with sonido, reappearing closer to the frothing centipede head.

Of all the times he had to leave. Not that Ichigo was on the cusp of uselessness, but Kon was another story. And right now, he had the most unfortunate, important job. In the readings, Ichigo did remember the only thing that could fatally injure the Ōmukade; Kon was going to murder him in his sleep for it.

Grimmjow would keep the demon distracted though, so Ichigo guessed he was already doing his part. It was up to Ichigo to get Kon in a decent spot to carve out a piece of its hide. Hopefully it would be easier done than said, and Ichigo could aid Grimmjow in distracting the creature. 

“I-Ichig-go s-shouldn’t we do s-something?” Kon stuttered behind him, face finally out of his back, arms still wrapped around his middle like seaweed.

Ichigo took a deep breath, steadying himself for what lay ahead and tightening his grip on Zangetsu.

“Kon, I need you to listen closely,” he started, turning around in the mod-souls hold, gripping each arm. 

…

“You want me to WHAT?” Kon shrieked, waving the fang around, almost slicing off one of Ichigo’s ears in the process.

They were in the air, hovering far enough above the nasty bug, allowing for a decent view of its entirety, Kon’s knees dug into his back. Ichigo already knew his legs were going to be numb by the end of the night if the mod-soul kept it up. Where Kon had the flexibility of fresh bamboo, Ichigo was a thick slab of concrete. Grimmjow was a slinky, but that was a different conversation.

“It’s the only way,” he was able to get out as Kon grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled, yanking his head back sharply. “Human saliva is the only thing that can kill it.” His voice was kind of gurgle-ly, but the message came across kind of clear. Kon, of course, was far from pleased.

“Why couldn’t you go in your own body then?!” the mod-soul yelled, nearly rupturing Ichigo’s left eardrum in the process. Flicking his eyes over to the head of the centipede, where Grimmjow was darting around, trying to slice away different places of its segments with his sharp claws, it didn’t look like he was getting very far.

He was surprised, honestly. Yoruichi really wasn’t kidding when she said his Resurrección may not do much good. Was it even harder than hierro? How was that possible? Then again, wasn’t the Ōmukade a super rare, ancient creature, one that supposedly killed hundreds and hundreds of people? _Maybe I should’ve paid more attention to that reading._

“Because Grimmjow couldn’t distract it and protect human me,” Ichigo spit out, frowning down at the arrancar, who had successfully cut off about five of its bony, spindly legs. He tried to use one as a spear and force it through the hard exoskeleton, only for it to shatter on impact, sending bone fragments splintering out all around him. “He’d probably feed me to it if he had the chance,” he muttered out, under his breath. It looked like a couple pieces had scratched his face. There was blood on his chest too, but not enough to worry about. Yet.

“Are you two having another lover’s quarrel?”

Ichigo sighed and looked for the best spot to drop Kon. He needed to keep him far from the mouth, but too close to the tail and they’d be fighting against the creepy-crawly from his own personal nightmares the whole night.

“No. Just a quarrel.”

“Haven’t made it to the lover stage yet, huh?”

“This is the worst time to talk about this,” Ichigo said, as he watched the beast spit poison at Grimmjow, who jumped above it, feet in footholds a distance away. Ichigo needed to help soon. The arrancar absolutely wouldn’t want it, but he was already pissed. What was a little more fuel to the dumpster fire of a day it was turning out to be?

“It’s the best time for me. You’re gonna make me lick a rotten dog fang and use it to cut a giant bug. I’ve got all night and tomorrow too. So let’s talk,” Kon said, chattering as one hand fisted into the top him of his shihaksho. Zangetsu was in Ichigo’s right hand since Kon was doing yoga on his back. “Do you think he’s a top or—”

Ichigo descended rapidly, forcing Kon to scream instead of finish his dirty thought. A small opening in the forest beckoned to him, where the body had thrashed, pushing away a few trees; it was little more than halfway down the length of the creature. The centipede was turned slightly to the left, so if he got Kon on the right, and kept irritating it in the opposite direction, he should be safe for a while. So far, the demon was pretty slow. The flesh wasn’t completely reanimated, and quite a few legs seemed frozen in death.

“We’ll veer it left, stay on this side,” Ichigo said, dropping Kon down onto the ground. Kon looked like he’d rather stab Ichigo than the hard exoskeleton a few feet beside him. Up close the smell was stronger, still like rotting meat and decay, but Ichigo powered through. “If it starts to move towards you, run.”

Kon starred down at the fang he was holding, blackened where the root would be and slowly lightening towards the pointed, sharp tip. Hopefully once Kon spit on it a few times, it would all be over soon.

“Ready?”

Kon frowned up at him, sticking out his lower lip for a bird to roost on if he wasn’t careful. 

“Nooooo.”

“I’m counting on you, Kon,” Ichigo said, waiting for him to nod. He did, and spat onto the fang’s tip before throwing his arm out towards the centipede, embedding the fang deep inside the hard exoskeleton, screeching as he did so.

Taking that as a que to leave him to it, Ichigo leapt up, joining Grimmjow seconds later, floating in the air a few feet above its massive, foaming head. The smell was worse closer to it. _It’s probably this nasty-ass poison, even it smells rotten._

The shock had worn off from watching it piece itself together, and now he could imagine it as any other hollow. Well, except it wasn’t a hollow and was, in fact, the biggest, and most violent bug he’d ever seen in his life, Nnoitora notwithstanding. He was an outlier and wouldn’t be counted. Whatever. He could pretend to feel a little better even if seeing its grotesque, malformed head up close made his stomach clench.

One of its eyes was completely gone, leaving an empty socket staring at them, oozing a black liquid. He didn’t figure it was blood, but didn’t know what else it could be. The pinchers on either side of its jaws were crooked, like they’d been broken before it was not-so-permanently killed the first time. What happened when these spirits or whatever were killed? Would it go to the soul society? Ichigo almost wanted to snicker at the thought. Kenpachi would have a hey-day with this damned thing, everyone else would just have a hernia.

The centipede turned its mass upwards, and as if it found its own footholds, began to climb towards them, standing back and supporting itself on the segments of its body. Maybe its underbelly was weaker?

Ichigo swung a half-powered Getsuga at its black underside, and Grimmjow took a few quick steps toward him, swinging a bladed arm towards his face.

Ducking back, barely out of reach, Ichigo felt the skin on his cheek tear open. It wasn’t deep, and it wasn’t a long cut either, but still.

“What the fuck man?” He glared at the arrancar before flicking his eyes over to where he hit the centipede. Not even a scratch. _Damn, Yoruichi wasn’t kidding about it being impenetrable._

“I’m not your target,” he grit out, one hand clasping the wrist of his opposite arm, like he was getting ready to fire some elbow bombs at him.

“I wasn’t aiming at you, idiot! That wouldn’t’ve hit you!

Grimmjow either didn’t hear him, didn’t listen, or didn’t care, as he took another three steps and vanished. Appearing behind him in a half crouch before kicking one stupid long leg up, at an almost impossible angle, knocking Ichigo back, towards the centipede, now balancing halfway up in the air on its segments like the worst living or dead tower he could imagine.

Antennae twitched, sensing his incoming presence, forcing toxic, purple beads of poison to drip out of its pinchers, bubbling when it made contact with the air and turning into a lighter, rancid foam. Stopping himself before he got an ass full of poison, Ichigio turned and swung Zangetsu, mainly for gathering momentum to stop, but also to keep the antenna from touching any part of him, ever, thanks. If one even grazed him, he’d amputate the limb right there, it couldn’t be helped. He wasn’t about to be tainted with bug juice, living or dead.

He stopped and managed to cut of a tip of the right one, causing the other to twitch, jaws spasming, creating more toxic foam as Ichigo leapt backward.

“What is wrong with you?!” Ichigo yelled, spinning around and considering throwing a full-assed getsuga at the blue bastard. Grimmjow sneered, but didn’t answer. Appearing in front of him with a sonido—Ichigo hadn’t released his bankai, so he was definitely at a disadvantage with this lunatic in his resurrección batting him around like a toy mouse.

“’This isn’t the time to spar!”

Damn, he really was still pissed because of last night, huh? Talk about holding a grudge, the big hairy cat. They could beat the shit out of each other when they _weren’t_ avoiding a giant, frothing, bug from hell, not that Grimmjow appeared to care about that anymore.

The centipede hissed again, the sound still like a high-pressure water stream, but this time it was…thicker, throatier. Antennae twitched wildly as legs flexed in and out without direction, circling around, some slowly, some quicker. Grimmjow looked confused, and stopped his assault for a moment.

“That’s gotta be because of Kon,” Ichigo said, watching as the creature shrieked, the part of it that was still up in the air, oscillating back and forth like it was being moved on a string, keeping one eye on Grimmjow, in case he went for it anyway.

“Tch. What’s that little creep got that we don’t?”

 _The kappa was a simpler time,_ he lamented to himself with a sigh.

“Human saliva.”

Grimmjow frowned, tail flicking back and forth in the air by his feet, nose scrunched up and elongated teal estigma wrinkled by his squinty face. 

“Gross.”

Feet switching in Grimmjow’s directing, eyes wide and sword out, like it was a big middle finger, Ichigo felt his eye twitch.

“Oh, like you’re one to talk Mr. I’m gonna lick your neck!”

The centipede surged forward, faster than what it had been so far, hissing turning to a gurgling roar, like it was choking on its own poison.

Two leg like appendages shot out of its front, but longer, inky black.

Each tip had a bead of liquid swelled up as exited the body, breaking off below the pinchers with a sharp _crack,_ gaping maw raging behind, following the trail like a sensor.

Grimmjow executed one of his ballet spinning kicks, as Ichigo liked to call them. Not to his face of course, but it was funny between Shiro and himself. He was able to cut through the extra legs, dislodging them from their path before sending a flying kick right between the centipede’s eyes, if it had two of them.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Kurosaki,” he growled out, lunging next at Ichigo.

Ichigo didn’t step back in time, earning another cut across his already bleeding arm to match the others, tearing the floppy fabric of his shihaksho sleeve off, sending blood into the air and down his hand, making his grip on the sword slippery, despite the bandages on the handle.

Snarling down at his bloody arm, Ichigo swung Zangetsu at the fuming arrancar, who parried with the curved blade on his arm, forcing it back and away. “Whatever the hell you want it to mean, you asshole!”

Centipede completely forgotten, Grimmjow, back turned to it, rushed Ichigo again, swiping at him with his claws, narrowly missing removing his nose. _Shit, I’m going to need bankai if he keeps this up._

“If you got something to say, then _fuckin’ say it_!” 

Blocking another blade, this time from one of his legs, Ichigo ducked a centipede leg, dislodged from his haphazard attack, flew close by his head, the tip almost piercing his eye.

“Oh now you decide you wanna talk about it?!”

The demon created a large spiral around them while they fought, its body twisted, encapsulating them inside its frame, some legs twitching at a frenzied pace, a low clicking sound echoing around them.

_Kon must be getting close. It’s getting pretty frantic._

Grimmjow, blue-fired gaze locked on Ichigo, aimed another strike at him, claws extended and long. He could imagine him piercing through his chest and ripping his heart, still bloody and beating, right out of his chest, like Urahara said he’d done with that Quincy. He didn’t notice the centipede twist its legs around, aiming four spindly, sharp points at Grimmjow’s back.

Those things had pierced his armor already. If they hit him, that would hurt like hell. And who knew what that poison would do if it got in his bloodstream. He’d barely survived the quincy’s poison ball. Another round might kill him.

Grimmjow lunged, claws out.

The legs followed, aiming right at the center of his back, where his lungs would be.

“Behind you!”

Ichigo didn’t block his attack.

Grimmjow crashed into him, slamming against his chest with full force, and Ichigo snaked one arm around his back, holding him in place as he aimed a full powered getsuga tensho at the too-close legs.

This time, his attack cut through the legs, and razing into the body, leaving a large, deep gash, the slice clean, like he carved through butter instead of a hard exoskeleton of a demon bug. The centipede stopped all movement as Ichigo heard a cracking sound, the body beginning to splinter outwards in small, sharp shards.

The smell got stronger as the legs broke in half at the joint, flesh connecting each segment beginning to dissolve, shrinking back and showing what was now clean, white bones, like a giant vertebrae all one after another. Ichigo wasn’t sure how bug bodies worked on the inside, and if he was being honest, he didn’t give two shits about it, but it was kind of interesting to see such large bones.

Grimmjow’s claws dug into his lower back as he straightened himself. The arrancar must’ve noticed his last-minute ditch to not evade and aimed his arm blades away from Ichigo, effectively _not_ disemboweling him, which was the nicest he’d been to Ichigo the whole day. Ichigo had knocked his claws away so he wouldn’t have a massive hole in his gut, but hey, it was progress.

Grimmjow watched beside him as the bones fell down, one on top of the other, like a skyscraper imploding, fracturing and dissolving as they turned to ash, filling up the air with an almost fog like quality.

Feeling eyes on him, Ichigo looked up at Grimmjow, towering above him by at least a foot. _Seriously, why is he so tall in this form? He’s gonna give me a height complex._

“You okay?”

Grimmjow narrowed his gaze at him, studying him—he looked like shit, probably. Ichigo assumed he was readying to throw some kind of bitch fit, saying nonsense like _I didn’t ask for your sorry ass saving me,_ as he opened his mouth.

And ran his tongue over the cut on Ichigo’s cheek, one clawed hand holding Ichigo’s head in place. His tongue was rougher than in his unreleased form. Just knowing there was a difference between the man’s tongue sent heat up into his face, turning him a visible shade of red. He briefly wondered if Grimmjow could feel the temperature difference with his tongue.

Grimmjow ran his cat tongue over the cut again, which hurt worse than the actual cut, if he was being honest, and Ichigo felt it fizzle, closing slowly.

“Ah, thanks,” he started, feeling his head being tilted to the side for an apparent physical exam. He raised up Ichigo’s arm, the one cut by the leg. It was still bleeding a little, but his shihaksho had absorbed a lot of the blood, leaving mostly smears on his skin. Ichigo tensed as Grimmjow, apparently bent on _grooming_ him for some reason lapped at the wound, forcing his latent instant regeneration to the surface and forcing the wound closed in a matter of a few seconds. Then again, maybe Grimmjow just had a blood kink. He kept the sniping comment of, _if you grab my balls and make me cough, I’m cutting your nails off,_ to himself.

“But, I’m not gonna have any skin left if you kept it up,’ Ichigo said, this time careful not to physically, or verbally, push him away, just watching as he inspected the other visible parts of him, thumbing a clawed finger down from the base of his neck to the center of his chest before planting a palm right over where his heart was.

This was probably as close to an apology as he’d get. He should know by now the man wasn’t one for words; Ichigo suddenly felt like a fool for not realizing sooner—hell, he’d been pretty obvious. Then again, Ichigo knew how dense he could be with these things. 

Grimmjow stopped and stared at him hard before crossing his arms, apparently satisfied with whatever inspection he’d given the Shinigami. 

“We’re both sleeping in the bed tonight.”

Ichigo swallowed, but nodded. That was that, then. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I hope I’ve done it justice. I’m planning on ending by Chapter 7 or 8, I think I’ve got it all planned out, so hopefully I can do it right. I’ve also considered making a tumblr blog for just my writing because it could be neat, but I haven’t convinced myself just yet. I’m not super active on social media besides my personal tumblr (if that's even considered a social media), so we’ll see. As always I hope you are enjoying this goofy little series—it’s been super fun to write, and I hope it’s been just as fun to read! Kudos and comments, as always, are super appreciated : )


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